


a great deal of light

by princegrantaire



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Joker (2019)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 07:10:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20578535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princegrantaire/pseuds/princegrantaire
Summary: What he needs--wantsis to see Sophie. It’s all too easy to get lost in the rhythms of her life, her laugh, the nights on her couch, familiarity in spades and more comfort than he knows what to do with.(Arthur has a rough night, Sophie helps.)





	a great deal of light

**Author's Note:**

> remember [my last artie/zazie fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16203143/chapters/37869341) where i said writing fics for a movie that doesn't come out for a whole year is fun? well, turns out writing fics for a movie that doesn't come out for a month is even MORE fun!!!! just to recap, here are the facts:
> 
> \- "Sophie is said to be a hardened single mother who has been beaten down by her time living in Gotham City" from just about every article written but adding onto that, zazie's said that [sophie is among the few people to acknowledge arthur is a positive manner](https://ufonaut.tumblr.com/post/187487403199/zazie-beetz-on-sophies-role-in-arthurs-life)  
\- arthur is anxious always and very very sad but still so very hopeful  
\- this takes place right after he's beaten up on the subway in the first trailer with the assumption that the scene where he's running takes place right after that and leads to the kiss in the second trailer
> 
> hope you enjoy!

The subway’s deafening. For the longest time, Arthur lays there, eyes fixed on flickering lights. It’s hard to tell when the punches had stopped. He remembers that final kick because he’d choked on his laughter and the men had mumbled something among themselves and when Arthur had rolled over on an aching shoulder, no one had been there to see.

It’s long past his stop.

Miraculously, nothing’s spilled out of his bag. No penalty for loss or damage of costumes awaits him, not that he could afford it. Not that there’s much at all he can afford.

Arthur picks himself up slowly, walks out at the next station on unsteady legs. There’s little that doesn’t hurt. Outside, he recognises enough of Otisburg’s glittering lights to know it’s gonna be a long walk home. _Home_, like he’s got one. He thinks of his mother in the hospital and the apartment sitting empty, feels sort of sick for not hating that nearly as much as he should.

What he needs-- _wants _is to see Sophie. It’s all too easy to get lost in the rhythms of her life, her laugh, the nights on her couch, familiarity in spades and more comfort than he knows what to do with.

A car drives by, too loud in the night. Caught in the headlights, Arthur can only think of sweating under blinding stage lights and how Sophie had been there, too, sat in the back and unforgettable all the same.

He doesn’t think he’d been real before her.

That’s when a shouted _freak!_ pushes him into an immediate sprint. Gotham’s all protests and strikes these days but that doesn’t mean there’s sympathy to be found walking alone in the dark. Arthur’s tasted enough blood in his mouth for one night. What he should’ve done, and that much seems obvious now, is wash off the makeup earlier but it’s hard to find excuses to stick around the lockers and harder still to convince himself of them.

So, Arthur runs until he can’t and doesn’t look back. The headlights fade long before he stops. He ends up at Sophie’s door, panting.

And that’s the thing. He doesn’t know why he does it. No, Arthur knows _why_. He’s been thinking about it since the day in the elevator. The night on the fire escape, exchanging cigarettes and half-made-up stories. The walk home from the cafe. He’s thought about it over and over and over again.

He doesn’t know _how _he does it.

_It’s just awful, isn’t it?_ Sophie had said in the elevator but it hadn’t been true at all. The world had been a little brighter that day, Arthur had laughed good and hard at the right place and time, the little laminated cards in his pockets hadn’t made much of an appearance at all. Those were good days. All days with Sophie were good.

Arthur takes the stairs two at a time and doesn’t stop to think about the blood at the back of his throat, the bruises and the open wound that’s become his life. Yes, he’s at Sophie’s door, gaze lingering across the hall.

He could go back.

Just now, he’d like this to be a good day. Arthur knocks, fidgeting in place. No part of him expects to hear the key turning, the door opening with the sort of hesitant curiosity he wouldn’t often attribute to Sophie. He drops his bag. In his mind, the music swells. 

Something in his heart clenches tight and Arthur doesn’t laugh and he doesn’t cry as he reaches out, cups Sophie’s face like he’s seen in old-time musicals and late-night films alike. He’s never-- he doesn’t _do _this. Their lips brush together, clumsy with sentiment, and the world comes into sharp relief. Sophie’s stiff against him -- Arthur forgets how to breathe, terror settling in his bones like an old friend -- and then, just like that, the split second passes them by and he finds himself being kissed back.

Too aware of every point of contact, the warmth of Sophie pressed so close, Arthur never wants to part. For once, there’s no hunger for things to have been different.

Just the two of them, the open doorway and the stillness of the night.

Sophie clutches at his arm and Arthur must make a sound, gone unheard to his own ears, because he ends up chasing the sensation as this moment of grace ends. His eyes flutter open, wide and questioning. There’s a streak of face-paint across Sophie’s nose, lips so red Arthur’s nearly compelled to lean in again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, instead, and can’t tell whether he means the white smeared all over or the kiss.

Both, probably.

There’s precious little Arthur doesn’t feel the need to apologise for.

But Sophie breaks into a smile, that familiar half-fond, half-amused quirk of her mouth, and shakes her head. “You’re hurt,” she says. It’s not a question, just like it’s never been one before.

A thousand excuses live and die on Arthur’s lips. It’d be stupid to deny the obvious.

“I’m, uh, just gonna-- take off the makeup,” he says, gesturing vaguely in the direction of where he knows the bathroom is, a mirror image of the apartment he’s spent half a desolate life in.

Inside, Arthur shuts the door and breathes. He can’t keep the smile off his face. Muffled by the tap, he gives out a delirious little burst of laughter, which is really just that -- too much happiness to be contained in a body that’s never known enough.

He’d _kissed _Sophie.

And she’d kissed back. His daydreams had never taken him that far.

Arthur scrubs at his face, far from gentle with himself. Beneath the exhilaration of a kiss that’d breathed life into him, there’s bone-deep exhaustion. It’s been a long night. A _couple _of long nights. It’s all worth it.

The facepaint gives way to a gaunt, tired face that’s almost definitely seen better days but the smile’s yet to leave him. Arthur thumbs at a red smudge on his cheekbone, more than some stray red paint. It stings, abruptly too grounded in his every day existence. That’s fine, too.

One last glance in the mirror and then Arthur’s wiping his face on the nearest towel, only to cringe at the ensuing traces of blue and red all over it. That’s-- industrial grade makeup, probably. He can’t be held accountable. He sort of smiles sheepishly, puts the towel right back where he’d found it and promises himself to buy Sophie a whole new set as soon as he can.

He doesn’t miss the blanket and the pillow haphazardly thrown on the couch as he emerges from the bathroom, nor his bag resting against the coffee table. Sophie must’ve brought it in. Arthur doesn’t know what to do with the warmth that floods him.

“Got some ice for your arm.”

She walks in and Arthur startles, too engrossed in what feels like intimacy. If Sophie’s noticed, she doesn’t say a thing. He thanks her for the ice-pack he’s handed, crashes down onto the couch through what’s less rational thought and more sheer exhaustion. He’s never known kindness like this.

Arthur wouldn’t dare pry, ask for more than the kiss he’s been granted.

It’s too much already.

It’s just _enough_.

“I’m gonna turn in ‘cause _someone’s _got school tomorrow,” and there Sophie glances towards her daughter’s bedroom, “but feel free to stick around.” She lingers in the doorway for a second. Arthur finds his voice.

“Um, Soph?”

“Yeah?”

“Just-- thanks.” A smile shared among friends. More than friends. Arthur’s never had either. “For everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ufonaut


End file.
